Title: True Serpent
Summary: Shortly after sixth year, Ron changes. Trust will turn out to be fatal. How will people around him cope with his actions? And how will he?
Disclaimer: I own the plot, which makes me very happy. I just wish I'd own a lot of reviews too...
A/N: The italicised part of this chapter is a flashback. Also, if it seems Ron is getting out of Azkaban soon, this is because this story is centred on Ron/Hermione dealing with events. In order for them to deal with events, he'll have to be able to spend time with her.
A/N: Chapter titles from this chapter on are based on a song. The first sentences will be part of the lyrics.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The dawn is breaking.
I am sitting here in my cell, looking at the first rays of sun which always symbolise hope. I wonder whether this day will be different from any other day, and curse myself for my foolish thoughts. But I have to do this; I can't stay realistic everyday because if I do I know that I will be crazy soon.
I think of her a lot. I remember our last moments together, how her trust in me began to fade. How her warm chocolate eyes turned a cold brown as I confessed my sins. She doesn't know the truth, and somehow that makes it easier. I know that she won't understand, that she is thinking of me, of it, everyday, trying to figure out what exactly happened that fateful night. She must have thought about it, must have at least considered the possibility. I wonder whether she felt hopeful, or if it didn't matter at all. I am a murderer, no matter which way you twist it. I killed Harry Potter. I killed hope. And nothing I say, or do, will ever change that.
So I sit here in my prison cell and think, and keep thinking because if I stop thinking I will go crazy. She is what keeps me sane, and I love and hate her for it every day. If I could just stop, stop thinking, stop being then it would all be easier. They could move on. They could forget about me and think of a way to deal with the upcoming war. They would win, I know they would.
He didn't of course; he thought that Harry was the key to victory. He thought that this stupid prophecy about Harry and Voldemort meant that Voldemort would automatically win as soon as Harry was murdered. I hope they show him. I hope they win so this whole stupid nightmare would be just that...a nightmare. I don't want to hear that they lost because of what I did. I used to be envious, used to want to make a difference, but now I pray that I won't. That whatever I did would not influence the outcome of anything. Except maybe Hermione's happiness. But that's not fair to ask.
I love her. I've never told her that, though I've told her every day that I am here. It hurts, when I realise that she will never know. That she will continue her life without me influencing it. That she will one day forget me, and move on. Some days I wish I had told her, and some days I think that she is better off this way.
There are so many ifs to this story. If I had told her, if she would have liked me the way I liked her, if we would have taken that chance, would it have made a difference? Would she have known? Would she have seen the difference in me? Would she have been able to prevent it?
I wait for my breakfast, knowing that I will lose my appetite as soon as he stands in front of my cell. Most people are glad that the Dementors are gone, but I'd trade him for them in a heartbeat. It's just so degrading. He never speaks to me, but I know his thoughts without him voicing them. The first time I saw him I thought that somehow he had come to get me. To save me. I thought that perhaps the Ministry had new evidence, that they knew what had happened to me. That they knew why. I jumped up, pressing myself to the bars in an attempt to grasp his robes. He jabbed me with his wand, his eyes cold behind his glasses. Throwing my food on the ground he turned around without a word. I begged him to look at me, to talk to me.
"Percy..."
He didn't turn around. He didn't listen to me. He just walked away. My own brother.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Somehow, even before he enters my view, I know that today is different. He is hesitant, his face not showing the same confidence as before. I dare not acknowledge the difference, staying in my usual position, in which I am leaning against a brick wall facing the floor. He prefers it this way, prefers to think of me as a convict, a prisoner, instead of his brother. I allow it, because I am still hoping, some days against hope, that in the end he will help me break free.
"Stand up,"
He says, his voice wavering, though his eyes look stern behind his horn-rimmed glasses.
"Turn around. Don't try anything stupid."
Like killing Harry Potter?
I feel shackles appearing around my wrists, and I shake them uncomfortably. I hear the cell being opened, and suddenly a wand is pressed into my back.
"Come."
I want to ask so many questions. Where am I going? What is going on? I know that he isn't going to let me escape, because other guards are standing a few feet away. One of them is holding a Ministry paper, and after a soft cough he begins to read.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you are hereby ordered to attend a Ministry Hearing at 11.00 a.m. this morning."
Nobody explains why, and I can only guess. I have already been sentenced to life in Azkaban, what more can they want from me? Maybe they think that I know something, that I can somehow clarify another unexplained murder.
It seems to take forever, but I am finally standing in front of serious looking wizards and witches, the rest of the room filled with familiar people. I can't stand to look at them. My family is there. Remus Lupin is, as well as most of the Order. I notice that Hermione isn't there. My heart drops. I would have liked to see her one more time.
"We would like to present new evidence as to what might have happened the night young Harry Potter was killed."
I feel my heart pounding in my chest. What?
"Very well,"
I hear one of the wizards say, before he turns to me. So does the wizard who made my heart leap not a minute ago.
"Mister Weasley,"
He says, and I have to hold on to the bench, because I fear, that if I do not feel the wood pressing against my hands, this might turn out to be a dream.
"We would like to hear your story again."
I have told this story before, and it has not changed since the first time I had to tell it. I wonder what new evidence they have, whether they will pick up on something in my story they haven't picked up on before.
"We were sitting near the fireplace..."
I know that they're looking at me, but I need to be alone for a while. Sometimes I get this itch, this irrepressible urge to move, to do something. I have weird thoughts lately. Sometimes I look at my friends and I feel hate surging through my veins. Harry is so special. He is always the hero. And Hermione...no matter how much I love her, I envy her too. She is so strong, so smart. She provides something that I can't. They make a good team, and I am just the sidekick. When thoughts like these enter my mind I need to be alone. I'm not like this. I don't care about being the sidekick, do I? I just want to help save the world.
Inhaling fresh air makes me feel better. Lately I've been feeling like my head is filled with feathers. I can't think straight, and sometimes I feel like I don't control my own actions. I've even blacked out a couple of times. It makes me scared, but I don't tell anyone. They've got enough stuff to worry about as it is. And besides, how much damage can it do? So I don't remember every minute of every day, well who does?
I've been telling myself this for a long time now. Ever since the wedding really. I don't know what changed that day, but it feels like Fleur is permanently next to me. I can't think straight, talk straight, and most of the time I avoid my friends.
I don't know how long I've been walking around, but I suddenly find myself near the forest. I hear footsteps. Harry's. It's funny how you can hear the difference between people's footsteps...I guess we've known each other for a long time now. I don't have to turn around, he knows that he can approach me.
"Hey mate"
He catches up with me and for a while we walk in silence, just enjoying each others' company. He knows that I don't want to talk. I doubt that he does, so we keep walking deeper into the forest.
Suddenly everything goes black, and the next thing I remember is seeing Harry on the ground. Hermione's arms are around me, and I feel a smile on my face. I quickly rearrange my features, trying to make sense of this situation. She asks me what happened, and I tell her that I don't know. It's true; I don't know what happened. I don't know why I don't remember, or why my blackout ended when Hermione threw her arms around me.
"Are you claiming, Mister Weasley, that you were under the Imperius Curse?"
"That is ridiculous,"
Somebody is shouting, and I wonder whether or not it is ridiculous. Why should people believe me? After all, it sounds like a lie even to me.
"I don't know...I'm telling the truth. I don't know what happened."
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